


Are You So Oblivious

by emef



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Stimulation, Aurors, Cohabitation, Covert Operation, HP: EWE, Hotel Sex, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Unspeakables, draco wearing glasses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 11:36:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5126054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emef/pseuds/emef
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In the name of inter-departmental cooperation," Malfoy says flatly, "I cede to your authority."</p><p>a.k.a the magic dildo story</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are You So Oblivious

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Charloween for beta and basically writing half of it, though she will deny this, and thanks to Dodificus for read-throughs.

DAY ONE (OF THREE)

”Malfoy. Let me do it."

"Shut it, Potter."

"Malfoy."

The keycard falls to the floor and the hotel suite remains impenetrable. Malfoy picks it up. Anyone watching would think he's inebriated, but he isn't: he's just never used anything but a wand to unlock a door in his life.

“If you can do it, so can I,” he says, stubborn.

It takes another five attempts with the keycard for Malfoy to unlock the door, at which point Harry starts thinking about the complimentary champagne mentioned at the front desk when they checked in. He would never drink anything on a mission but the phrase ‘complimentary champagne’ sounds so very considerate and hospitable. He’d never even heard of such a thing before. The Dursleys certainly never went to hotels offering such a service. Not that he -

“Potter. Potter.” Malfoy waves an arm at him, looking malevolent.

Harry snaps at him. “What?”

“Shall we?”

Ron was right. Using Malfoy in a covert mission is the most misguided idea he’s ever had in his professional career. There are _so_ many ways this could go wrong. Still…

“Malfoy, I understand that in the Department of Mysteries, you are accustomed to being in a position of control. But -“ Harry steels himself. “Try to remember that I’m the primary on this mission.”

A beat. “In the name of inter-departmental cooperation,” Malfoy says flatly, “I cede to your authority.”

Harry’s life flashes before his eyes. Is it possible… No, he checked, this definitely isn’t someone else using polyjuice. Absolutely, positively the most misguided idea. He feels like he’s trying to find a safe path in between a dark forest full of sensitive memories on one side, and a rocky cliff of professional missteps on the other.

“We should assess the rooms, first.”

Their suite has a bedroom, dressing room, dining room, living room, and a terrace. And one bathroom for the both of them: pink marble and startling. Malfoy doesn’t say a word. They don’t find any security concerns they hadn’t already planned for; Harry sets down his bags in the living room, Malfoy in the bedroom.

They sit at the dining room table. Harry decides to pretend that this is any other mission, with any other agent. It’ll work, he tells himself. If Malfoy acts like a prat, Harry thinks, instead of feeling provoked, he’ll just pretend that Malfoy’s taking the piss like a normal wizard. Friendly-like.

Malfoy takes a stack of files out of a briefcase, and reading glasses out of the front pocket of the sports jacket he’s wearing. He puts them on.

“…Am I allowed to speak, oh great primary?”

Harry shuts his eyes, pained. This is going to be a challenge. “Yes.”

Auror protocol includes what they call a “review”. A careful statement of all the relevant facts, the review serves as a reminder of the purpose of the mission, as well as a final confirmation of the role of each agent involved.

“Our target is the Little Henry. It is a magical, probably dark, object first appearing in records as part of Catherine II’s household, making it at least two hundred years old, possibly older. There is no extant description of the Little Henry, only a description of its powers, variously described as “evil”, “nefarious”, “wicked”, depending on the translation. It has surfaced now as part of a muggle auction at Sotheby’s. Its full capabilities are unknown, partly because it only has an effect on wizards. Its existence has been brought to the Ministry’s awareness through research done by my department, hence my presence here.”

Harry takes up the review. “We are here with the smallest possible team, hoping to make the retrieval covert. The target is listed for an auction which has garnered some publicity, signifying that a simple extraction - stealing it - would not go unnoticed. For ethical and budgetary reasons the Ministry is attempting to avoid modifying large numbers of memories; ergo, they have given us leave (and means) to simply purchase the target at auction. This will have the added benefit of maintaining a clear chain of custody. Further, Agent Malfoy’s official occupation and background make the purchase of this object by him plausible, should any witch or wizard happen to be attending the auction.

"Given its nature,” Draco continues, “the safest way to retrieve the object involves placing a broad-spectrum magic dampener on ourselves for twenty four hours. For this reason we have already spent some time living as muggles to accustom ourselves.” 

“Today is Wednesday,” Harry says. “Thursday we visit the auction house and surrounding area.”

“Early Friday morning we will set the magic dampener, make the retrieval, place the Little Henry in magic-inhibiting casing, and wait here for the dampener to wear off.”

“At which point I can go back to _never wearing these things again_ ,” Malfoy says, ostentatiously removing his reading glasses.

“Yes, being a muggle is such a struggle,” Harry says, sarcastic, and winces at the accidental rhyme.

“Be that as it may,” Malfoy deadpans, “Muggles are safe from our target, which begs the question: why aren’t we just leaving the Little Henry with them.” 

“Well, Ministry employees are supposed to care about people.”

“Oh, dear,” Malfoy retorts. “Think it’s too late to resign?”

*

The review over, Harry declares his intention of finding the hotel gym, Malfoy declares he needs to catch up on paperwork, and they go their separate ways.

Inevitably, they run into each other in the bathroom.

“Nice pajamas, Potter”

Harry’s pajamas are flannel with a quidditch-themed print in an assortment of colours. The pink marble of the bathroom makes the colour contrast particularly eye-searing.

“Do you like them? Molly made them for me.”

Malfoy is standing at the sink, wearing an Slytherin green dressing gown, and applying lotion from the tiniest pot Harry has ever seen.

“Do I like - _no_ , Potter, they're hideous, I do not _like_ them. Are you so oblivious as to think I meant that as a compliment?”

"Oh," Harry answers in a bored voice. "Well I apologize for imposing their visual pollution on you, then." 

***

DAY TWO (OF THREE)

“People buy gifts for their loved ones when they travel, Potter. It’s normal social behaviour.”

After their visit of the auction house and surrounding area - uneventful - Draco insists on visiting the hotel gift shop, where he makes some utterly ludicrous purchases. Potter follows him to - as far as Draco can tell - scoff at his lack of familiarity with muggle accoutrements.

“You just purchased _twelve_ Liberty print silk scarves.”

“Mother loves silk.” The suite door opens on his second try. He raises his chin triumphantly.

Potter rolls his eyes. “Fine, Malfoy, but you aren’t travelling, and therefore you are not engaging in normal social behaviour. You are engaging in _eccentric_ behaviour.”

“But we _are_ travelling, a bit,” Draco says, frowning at Potter.

“You live in London, and we are currently _in London_.”

“Honestly, Potter.” Draco removes his scarf with a flourish. “You have no sense of wonder.”

They do a security check of the suite together, but even after they’re done, Potter follows him when Draco goes to retrieve the case files, and he only seems to notice that he’s followed Draco into bedroom after the fact. Do all auror teams follow each other around, Draco wonders? Is it part of the training?

Draco decides not to ask. There are _so_ many ways this could go wrong, but… After thinking about it for a moment, he sits down in one of the armchairs in the corner of the bedroom, and open one of the files, to see what Potter will do.

Potter sits in another one of the armchairs, and immediately starts talking about food. “Shall we order something for dinner, or see if we can get a table downstairs?”

“If we order in we can work while we eat.”

Potter considers this. “We could eat out on the terrace.”

“It’s October.” Is he being purposely obtuse? “And the terrace is the least secure location in this entire suite.”

Potter continues to act oblivious. “We could order a tasting menu. Hermione told me about them. They give you little portions of lots of dishes.”

“I thought aurors were supposed to be efficient.” Draco puts on his reading glasses, and looks at Potter over them. “And aren’t tasting menus expensive?”

“Hmmmmmmm, I’ve been thinking about that,” Potter says, pulling off his jumper. He’s wearing a - what do the muggles call it - t-shirt underneath.

“Have you.”

“Well, I was surprised that the rental of this suite was sanctioned?” He stretches his arms above his head, and his t-shirt rides up above the waistband of his trousers. Draco can see his abdominal muscles. “I mean, it’s perfect for our cover, but the cost is roughly equal to my salary for a month, so I expected some complaints when I submitted my expense projection.”

Draco, registering what Potter just said, tears his gaze away from the strip of skin revealed above his waistband. “Do you know - I _had_ rather wondered how you’d pulled that off.”

“My hypothesis is,” Potter finally stops stretching. “The people at the Ministry approving budgets don’t know what muggle money is worth.”

“ _No_. D’you really think so?”

Potter smiles lopsidedly, and for a moment, he looks just like he did at age sixteen. “Yeah. So shall I order the tasting menu?”

Draco huffs out a laugh.

They have the meal served in the dining room, and it’s rather nice. Food on dozens of plates, informal, the dining room table so huge that they can spread case files over it without getting in the way of dinner. And they they get a surprising amount of work done throughout. Potter, Draco decides, may be baffling, but he isn’t incompetent.

“Wait, Malfoy, did I just hear you say that the target’s physical appearance is either a doll with a china head, or a… a -“

“A dildo, yes. Made of enchanted leather.”

“You’re having me on.”

“I’m not, not really -” Draco says, waving his arms vaguely. “The stories about the doll and the sex toy are apocryphal. It could look like anything. It might be a handbag, for all we know, so it’s - this is the reason we _have_ to be here, rather than bid via floo, I mean -“

“Telephone bidding.” Potter says through a mouthful of pasta. “Or internet.”

“Yes. My research shows that the Little Henry -”

Potter exclaims, “Oh _God_ what if it is a doll.”

“Will definitely be auctioned off tomorrow. But -“

“A doll! That’s _appalling_.” Potter looks nauseated, but he keeps eating his eggplant parmesan. “And a sex toy called the Little Henry. That’s even worse.”

“We’ll only know which item it is because Monkstanley found us a detector.”

“Monkstanley… Levina Monkstanley, the witch who invented ‘lumos’?”

Draco doesn’t say _how in Merlin’s name do you know that_ , but he thinks it. “Yes. Levina Monkstanley.”

“Levina Monkstanley, the witch who invented ‘lumos’ _in the 18th century_.”

Draco steals the plate of eggplant. “Yes, Potter. Her portrait’s in my office. And she says we might be able to sense the Little Henry without the detector.”

“Hm, you wrote that in your notes.”

Draco finishes off the eggplant and starts in on the carpaccio. The food would be lovely with Chardonnay, pity they shouldn’t -

“Wait, Potter, how did you know that? About Monkstanley?”

“I’ve been friends,” Harry says through a mouthful of veal, “with Hermione Granger.” He swallows. “For two decades.”

After dinner Draco calls down and asks for hot chocolate to be brought up, and Potter asks for someone to make the fireplace work - neither one of them has the slightest idea how to start a fire without magic - and they natter on about quidditch until all the chocolate is gone. It's familiar and it feels - it feels _normal_ , like being in school, Draco thinks, except it's Harry instead of Crabbe. Which makes the conversation rather better, really.

And this mission is going to work, Draco thinks. The inter-departmental cooperation idea seemed full of potential problems - his history with Potter being only one of them - but Potter is good at planning, and this venture into muggle London has a pleasingly anthropological aspect Draco enjoys. If he’s honest with himself, he's rather happy at the moment.

Potter and his eye-melting pyjamas wander into the bathroom just as Draco is finished flossing his teeth. He seems to be wearing an older pair of glasses, and Draco wonders why Potter never used spells for his eyesight. He turns around to ask, but then Potter’s moved forward and suddenly he’s _right there_ , looking down at his toothbrush, somehow projecting agility and strength via untidy hair and a rumpled t-shirt.

Draco rubs his face awkwardly.

“S’wrong, Malfoy?” Harry asks, seemingly impervious to their sudden proximity.

Draco prevaricates. “I’m about to have my magic dampened for about a day, Potter, what makes you think I’m nervous?”

“Hmm,” Potter nods, and picks up the toothpaste.

Draco fishes out his face lotion, and they stand next to each other at the sink. Harry puts toothpaste on his toothbrush.

Harry grins. “It’s a bit like school, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Draco says, flustered.

***

DAY THREE (OF THREE)

They complete the mission without incident.

“I still can’t decide whether this is the most appalling option, or whether it would have been worse for it to have been a doll with a china head,” Harry says in the elevator.

Malfoy opens the door to the suite on the first try. “I never thought it would be _either_ , honestly. This is great; it substantiates Garem of Ogba’s description, which suggests his other accounts are reliable as well.”

“A two hundred year old magical object in the shape of a giant _phallus_ , though.”

“Really,” Malfoy muses as he heads to the living room, “When you think about it, it’s surprising that there aren’t _more_ enchanted sex toys.”

Harry picks up the telephone. “I’m going to order down for hamburgers. Is there anything you want?”

“I really want a nice Cahors, since you ask, but your department has informed me that drinking is frowned upon on missions.“

“Yes yes,” Harry gestures with impatience. “Hamburgers?“

“Cheese on mine.”

*

Malfoy answers the door when the food is delivered, and from Harry’s vantage point in the living room, he notices the employees staring. Some people with naturally blond hair, Harry thinks, darken as they get older. Not Malfoy; maybe that’s why the employees are staring. Malfoy’s hair is still so pale that it is nearly white, and together with his grey eyes, he’s… objectively, he’s a sight to behold.

“Shall we eat in here?” Malfoy asks, pushing the trolley into the living room and flopping down onto the sofa. It’s the sofa Harry has been sleeping on, but perhaps Malfoy hasn’t noticed.

“Yeah, we’ll put the… Christ, I can’t make myself call it the ‘Little Henry’ now. We’ll transfer the _object_ in its casing after dinner.”

Malfoy smirks. “D’you know, Potter - it is truly unfortunate that this is entire mission is classified. I believe this could have been one of my top five, no, top three anecdotes.”

“I does have everything,” Harry agrees, moving a cushion aside to sit next to Malfoy. “Undercover agents, opulent accommodations, an unusual rumour revealing itself to be more disturbing than expected…”

“ _Opulent accommodations_ , Potter? This isn’t even a royal suite.”

Harry rolls his eyes.

*

"I've read the file a dozen times so I know I've got this right but: we're really not to touch the object?"

"It's a bit over-cautious, I know, and -"

"Not that I'm in a hurry to touch it," Harry mused.

"It surprised me, given the dampeners, but Monkstanley's recommendations were very clear."

The magical containment casing looks like a muggle suitcase, with wheels at the bottom and a handle on top. If a muggle opens it, they find old socks, and if a magical being finds it, they feel compelled to take it to a ministry building. The only thing distinguishing it from the rest of Malfoy's luggage is a small Ministry seal.

"So we just open the case and dump it in there."

Malfoy smirks. "'It', Potter?"

"The target."

"You mean, the Little Henry?"

Harry winces. "Yes. That."

"Little Henry."

"Can we just -"

"Does this magical phallus make you uncomfortable, Potter?"

"And we'd been getting on so well."

"Little Henry."

When they finish eating Malfoy pushes the food trolley out of the suite and Harry watches him, thinking: he’s rather graceful. There is something elegant to him, something that wasn’t there in school. Not that he’s anything like the Malfoy Harry knew in school. Not that Harry is like the Harry anyone knew in school, for that matter.

“I’ll fetch the casing,” Malfoy calls out, and disappears into the bedroom. When he comes back, he unceremoniously opens the casing, opens the box containing the Little Henry above the casing, and tips it over.

The Little Henry, rather than complying with the laws of physics and falling in a straight line into the casing, falls sideways.

Malfoy catches it.

He immediately throws it into the casing, and shuts the casing. At which point there is a silence.

And then Malfoy cries out. "Ahhh!"

"Malfoy!" Potter is at his side like a shot, putting one hand on Malfoy's back, and the other on his forearm.

Draco shouts, and draws a panicked breath. "SALAZAR'S ARSE!"

"Draco! What -"

"DON'T TOUCH ME."

Harry turns and dives into his kit bag before he even knows what he’s doing. “Hold still, I have a -“

“Harry - ?“ Draco gasps.

“It’s a detector,” Harry says, holding up a small translucent globe. “Don’t worry, we only need it to check whether you should be taken to St. Mungo’s."

Malfoy's eyes grow big, and he looks down at himself. "If I need to -"

"It’s supposed to work even when we’re completely drained of magic.”

“No,” Draco shakes his head, looking pained. “I just need to -“

“Don’t move,” Harry says, and holds up the globe to look at Malfoy through it. A few words appear, and then Harry stares, not quite able to process them.

Auror training includes a section on lust and sexual arousal in professional settings, but Harry’s never actually had a diagnostics globe tell him his partner was suffering from ‘accidental stimulation’.

He blinks. “Um.”

“St Mungo’s?” Draco croaks, his voice a full octave higher than normal.

“No, you’re just… The globe says you’re ‘stimulated’.”

Draco slowly, painfully, covers his face with his hands.

“From your posture and the colour you’re turning, I’m guessing that translates as ‘really, terribly, probably distressingly, aroused’ and -” Harry’s voice drops to a mumble. “And I’m probably not helping, am I.”

_"BY MERLIN'S PUCKERED SPHINCTER NO YOU ARE NOT HELPING!" _Draco says, his hands still on his face.__

“Maybe.. I think Hermione has a telephone, she might know what to -“

“ _I WILL HEX YOU_.”

Harry clears his throat. “You - you can’t, actually.”

"Potter."

"Because of the. Err. The dampener."

Were the situation any different, Harry thinks, he and Draco would be assuming duelling stances now. They would have their wands pointed at each other or - or would they? The sudden silence, interrupted only by heaving breaths, is overwhelming, but it's not the familiar irritation mixed with violence Harry associated with Draco Malfoy for so long. The air is charged, the space between them is tingling, and Harry knows, Harry _knows_ that something explosive is going to happen, but...

“ _Potter_.” Malfoy says, letting his hands drop from his face, and the look in his eyes is indescribable. He stands tall and he's flushed and his breathing is ragged.

And Harry thinks, oh. _Oh_. "Draco."

“ _Harry_.”

So Harry takes three steps towards him, and kisses him.

Draco doesn't move, doesn't put his arms around Harry, but Harry can feel his heart beating. He smells like pommade and quill ink, and like something woody and fresh somehow. Like running through a field on an autumn day.

Draco doesn't respond, but he doesn't push him away either, and Harry picks Draco's hand up and places it over his own heart, so that Draco can feel it beating too. Draco's skin is soft; Harry runs his thumb over it, back and forth. "Ahhhh." Draco groans into Harry's mouth, and he pulls Harry towards himself, and kisses him back.

It's _staggering_. Harry can feel Draco’s hands stroking his back, and it feels like the first time Harry got on a broom: something Harry suddenly discovered he'd always wanted but didn't even know was within the bounds of possibility. Harry had no idea. He had _no idea_.

They stumble towards the sofa and Draco starts pulling up Harry's t-shirt.

Something floats up to the surface of Harry's mind. "Wait, wait, Malfoy."

"What?" Draco gapes.

"You said not to touch you." Harry pushes Draco away, tries to extricate himself from where Draco is straddling him. "I didn't - I'm sorry..."

Draco sits back on his heels. ”Potter. I am not doing this against my will.” He tilts his head. “Are you?"

"No!"

"Then _shut up_." Abruptly, Draco pushes Harry down onto his back, climbs on top of him, and pins Harry to the sofa. He mutters, running his hands over Harry's chest, "You fit bastard." And then he's lowering himself over Harry and nuzzling the nape of his neck, running his hands down Harry's chest. He breathes in, and out, and in, and out, chest heaving, and kisses Harry. And then he slides down the sofa and undoes Harry's belt.

Harry clutches at Draco's shoulders and gasps for air. Everything seems unreal, Harry thinks, stunned. Draco's mouth, the sounds they're both making, the gilded ceiling above. He can _feel_ Draco moaning into his skin, making breathy, ragged sounds of passion, and Harry moves helplessly, trying to get closer. Draco pulls his trousers down, and puts his hands on Harry.

"Malfoy..."

"I said _shut up_ ," Malfoy says, as he grips Harry's cock, and soon they're moving together wildly, erratically. 

*

Some time later, long after the Little Henry’s effect has worn off:

"Why,” Draco asks, his mouth on Harry’s collarbone, “Haven't we been doing this since the day we met?"

"We were eleven," Harry says.

“Nevertheless.”

FINIS

**Author's Note:**

> So I read this text post on tumblr, _It isn’t a fanfic unless Main Character has to tear their gaze away from the strip of skin revealed above Love Interest’s waistband when they casually stretch their arms above their head_ and I was like: it has to be in the fic. So.
> 
> Thanks again to Charloween for beta and coming up with the best lines (“being a muggle is such a struggle” "BY MERLIN'S PUCKERED SPHINCTER NO YOU ARE NOT HELPING" etc) and coming up with the creepy doll thing, as well as the thing where Harry and Draco go into the mission not knowing what the object looks like. (Actual chat quote: IS IT THE CREEPY DOLL OR THE PENIS *falls over laughing*)


End file.
